


ad astra

by NotAllThoseWhoWander



Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotAllThoseWhoWander/pseuds/NotAllThoseWhoWander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in time, they fall together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ad astra

 

 

He comes through the doorway with his clipboard in his hand and she's the next patient, sitting with her legs crossed on the white bench outside the exam room.

 _Thank God_ , he thinks.

"Come back in three days if the sprain is still bothering you," he calls, addressing the retreating back of a burly redshirt. And then, to Uhura, "Jim's damn arm-wrestling contest is still turning up casualities." 

"Not surprising." She smiles, then; a cool smile. Why is it that she's always so  _cool_ , collected, drawn together—a lovely contrast when struck against the witless brawn of the Engine Room boys, or, lord knows, Jim. "I imagine that you've had a long day."

Conducting monthly physicals for a crew captained by James Kirk is more than taxing. He closes the exam room door while she removes her boots, strips down to her underwear. And it's stupid, Bones chastises himself, that he has to remind himself that she's just another patient. Certainly an enigma, and always a pleasure to work with, and he's seen her put that razor-sharp tongue to very good use. In a way, he pities Spock. 

And in a way he envies him. 

A routine examination; she readily complies, only checks her wristwatch once.

"So, no injuries received during away-missions?"

"The only injury that I've received was inflicted on my pride." Uhura laughs.

"And you'd like to continue your work on away-missions?"

She meets his eyes, dark confusion for a moment. "Why would I not?"

"No reason. Just a routine question."

"I've always replied in the positive, doctor."

"I know." He marks her replies on his PADD. "Ah, these next questions are somewhat—delicate. If you'd feel more comfortable discussing them with Nurse Chapel, I can—"

"Bones. Please." She flicks her hair over her bare shoulder in an easy movement. "Let me get dressed. Then ask to your heart's content."

He stares at the wall clock, watching nanoseconds whiz past, almost uncountable, as she pulls on her skirt and shirt. She sits on the edge of the exam table, watching him.

"I'm ready."

"Right." He flicks through the questions. "Are you, at this time, sexually active?"

"Obviously." Do her lips curl a little, or is he imagining things?

"I don't see a history of birth control on your record."

"No."

"Would you—"

"We use protection," she says, almost sharply.

"My apologies, lieutenant."

She clears her throat. "Sorry, doctor. We, ah, use adequate protection."

He flies through the rest of the questions, scolding himself for wanting to tread lightly. More than a patient, Uhura is the friendly presence on the bridge, the only one to keep her wits about her while the rest of the crew lose their heads. She commands respect. 

"And your cycles are regular?"

She checks her watch. "Everything's fine, Bones. Um, I have a shift in five minutes, so..."

"Go ahead," he says, and waves her through the door. 

* * *

"Spock."

"Captain."

" _Spock_."

"Captain."

" _Sp-ooooooooo-ccccc-kkkkk_." 

"Caption."

" _Sp—_ "

"Excuse me, kiptain." Chekov, who has been loitering nervously at Kirk's side for the past several minutes, taps their fearless leader's shoulder. Jim swivels in the captain's chair.

"Yes, Ensign?"

"Ah, I was examining the navigation charts, and found it preferable to mention that within five hours we'll be reaching Centarius VI." 

"Good work, Chekov." Jim steeples his fingers as Chekov says  _thank you, kiptain!_ in that adorably cheery tone. "Now, I happen to consider you an expert in three-dimensional chess, and I was wondering if you could help Mister Spock and myself sort out a minor  _discrepency_  regarding—"

"Captain, I hardly think that this is the place..." Spock arches a single eyebrow impressively. "Considering our rapid approach to Centarius VI, I sugges that you consult Ensign Chekov another time."

Jim pushes the chair around, turning pointedly away from Spock. He mutters,

"Try making another illegal move..."

* * *

Bones is updating the Enterprise's medical record database when someone knocks at his office door.

"Come in," he calls, without thinking, and looks up to see Uhura glancing around the doorway. "Back so soon, Lieutenant?"

"Ah." She enters, almost cautiously, stands before him with her arms folded. "I need to talk to you, Bones. Earlier, I...didn't mention it—I don't know why, I..."

"Everything alright?" He enters Sulu's examination record (clean, save for a nasty gash earned during a fencing match with Jim) and turns off the PADD.

Uhura eases herself onto the exam table; he notices her clenched fists.

"I think I'm—" A pause. "Pregnant." 

_Dammit, Spock._

_  
_"Well." He stands up. "Why don't we check, Lieutenant?" Rinsing his hands at the sink. "You told me that your cycles were regular. Have you missed any?"

"I lied." Uhura strips off her shirt, avoids his eyes. "I know the signs of pregnancy, Bones."

"Right." He wants to ask her about the whole, I don't know, maybe  _using protection_ thing, but decides to drop it for the time being.

"I did one of those thermostick tests, but you know how unreliable they can be."

"Just lie down." He wants to help her onto the exam table, maybe assure her that the start of an infant's life is something special and magical and amazing, but he can't, he finds himself hoping, wildly and stupidly and maybe selfishly, that she's not pregnant, that the thermostick was faulty, that she'd only skipped a—

He runs the thermoscanner across her abdomen and yes, she's pregnant.

"It looks like you're about four weeks along, Uhura."

Uhura sets her jaw as she sits up. "This is my fault, Bones."

"Your fault? It's no one's  _fault_." Well, maybe it's  _someone's_ fault. Maybe it's the fault of  _two very specific people_. Nevermind that. 

She says, "don't tell Spock."

"That's your place." 

"Bones." She pauses, looks away. "Bones, I—I've never—"

He busies himself clearing up his desk. "First time for everything." And then he realizes that of course she's worried, she's pregnant and she's young—young and although Uhura's tough as nails she is also inexperienced in this realm, and why should she not be?

"We're going to have to have a talk about this, you know." 

"About...?"

"You have, ah," a quick pause, barely detectable. "You can carry the baby to full term, or—"

"I'm not having an abortion!" She says, loud and shrill, fists tighting. "If this is about Spock, you're wrong—whatever you think, you're wrong. He'll be a—"

"I wasn't saying anything about Spock." He meets her gaze. "Nyota, you have to take into consideration your line of work. You're young, and your job— our job—is stressful. I have no doubt that you'll be a wonderful mother. And that Spock will be a...very good father."

"Right." She draws in deep breaths. "I'm sorry—for reacting like that. I worry about him. When I took the thermotest, all I could think about was raising a baby with Spock. I didn't think..." her lips twitch. "We made mistakes, Bones. Late at night, we were taking the late shift on the bridge, and then we were alone in the elevator—which has  _really nice_ floors, by the way, and one thing lead to another—"

"I think I've got the gist."

"Anyways. I don't know why I'm surprised, I've always known that I've wanted kids. Someday."

"Somday is today," he says, and he's so, so grateful when she smiles.

* * *

On the bridge, James Kirk is locked in a private, willful battle of wit. With himself. 

_If I let Spock win—_

_I'm not going to let Spock win._

_I've won the past five—_

_He owes me._

_If I let Spock_ think  _he's going to win—_

 _  
_"Excuse me." Chekov, again. He taps Kirk's shoulder. "Two hours until we reach Centarius VI."

"You never disappoint, Chekov." Kirk stares through the ship's vast windscreen, watching space unfurl before him.  _If I let Spock win—_

* * *

"Sulu, you'll be coming. You too, Ensigns Brock and Peters. And Officer Spock—and you, Uhura."

Uhura, who has just stepped from the turbolift, folds her arms. 

"Ah..."

"What is it?"

"I can't."

"You can't what?"

"I can't accompany on the away mission, Captain. You have my apologies."

* * *

_Thirty minutes ago:_

_"One more thing." He shoves his PADD into his bag. "I'm not sure if your going on away missions is a good idea."_

_"I'm pregnant—and barely so, doctor. I think that I can handle a trip planetside."_

_"My advice is 'no'. For now. The early stages of pregnancy are often the most risky, Nyota." Using her first name_ twice  _during the same meeting? Living on the edge, Bones._

_"What do I tell Kirk? Or Spock?"_

_He pauses, thinks. Says, "I'll cover for you."_

* * *

"Lieutenant Uhura is experiencing a minor shoulder sprain, actually."

"Bones?" Jim pulls a grimacing face. "Really? We need a translator. Uhura's not going to be put in any  _danger_." _  
_

"Not a good idea, Jim."

"You worry like a mother hen."

"And you run around like a chicken without a head! She's hurt."

"She goes."

"She's injured. She stays."

"She—"

" _She_ can speak for herself." Uhura says, loudly, crisply. Turns to Kirk. "Captain, Doctor McCoy is right. I've sprained my shoulder. It's nothing serious, but should a dangerous situation arise I'm afraid that I'll be no help to you. Ensign Johnson should take my place. He's been doing very well translating, and he should have a chance to prove his worth out in the field."

Kirk ponders for a moment. Several decades of reining as the smartest repeat-offender in the Midwest hasn't gone to waste. He's not stupid. He sees the tautness in Uhura's face, her tight mouth. 

"Right," he says. "Chekov, call Ensign Johnson."

* * *

Having left the bridge—shift over at last—Chekov heads with high spirits for his quarters. It will be 9:15 in Saint Petersburg—the sun having set hours ago over domed roofs—and his mother will be listning to the radio, maybe cooking in the narrow kitchen, the apartment warm and his siblings hunched over their textbooks at the table...

He almost doesn't notice her, always was oblivious to the female sex. And then he hears it.

"Lieutenant Uhura?" Sort of inching forwards, and damn, why does his voice sound so  _high_? Like a girl's. Or something.

She's standing in the hall with her back to him and her shoulders are sort of trembling, and she turns around fast like she's scared. Swiping at her eyes hastily. 

"Chekov. Didn't hear you coming."

"I prowl."  _That sounded ridiculous_. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." 

"That didn't come out right. I know that you're not."

Uhura turns and stares at him, and there's a sudden, unnerving clarity in her eyes.

"You're right, Pavel. I'm not okay."

He decides to wade into the troubled waters.

"Is this possibly related to another certain crewmember?"

She presses her lips together. He jumps in headfirst.

"Is this about Spock?"

"I'm being stupid," Uhura says, quickly, and sniffs. "Carry on, Chekov."

 But he walks beside her down the hall.

"You are very many things, Officer Uhura," and he's afraid that he's mangled her name once more, "but you are most certainly  _not_ stupid In fact, I might say that stupid is something that you will never, never be."

"Oh, Chekov." She stops and, suddenly, puts a hand against his cheek. "If you only—" and then, almost wistfully, "never change. Will you do that, for me? Never change."

As she strides away, he snaps a salut.

"Aye, Lieutenant."

* * *

Coming out of the mess hall, she sees him. Locked into some kind of debate with Kirk; not surprising. He meets her gaze, she wants to avoid him but can't. Feels elated and horrified and like turning tail and running. 

"Spock." 

"Lieutenant." He insists on addressing her formally when they're not alone.

"How was Centarius VI?"

"Uneventful. Although I'm sure that you would have appreciated their employment of a hybrid tongue. One of the diplomats made mention of an ancestoral language."

She hears  _and it made me think of you_ and this makes her happy, bittersweetly.

"Well." Rolls her shoulder, lightly. "Next planet."

"Of course." They walk towards the doors. Quietly, "how are you, Nyota?"

Her chest clenches up and she bites her lip without meaning to. 

She could break down, reveal everything, Uhura, the sharp, stoic, razor-tongued Lieutenant.

"Spock," she says, softly, not without urgency. "I'm—"

* * *

Across the room, he sees them. Her, shoulders pulled back, like a soldier; him, tilting his head down to listen to her. Reading his lips without meaning to, a trick picked up in crowded university lecture halls when the class was rowdy and the professor disengaged.

_How are you, Nyota?_

_  
_Bones sees the conflict, dark behind her eyes. _Tell him, let him know, let him be proud, angry, anguished._

_Keep your secret, Lieutenant._

_  
_She reaches, takes his hand.

His breath catches but he doesn't notice.

Spock pauses. Uhura's lips, parting.

_Spock, I'm—"_

* * *

_  
_"—fine. I'm fine."

Sopck inclines his head. "I'm glad. We have all endured no small measure of job-related stress lately."

"Well, it's certainly no stress that I can't handle, Spock."

"I wouldn't suggest otherwise."

She holds his hand, tight. Will he walk beside her like this when she tells him about the baby? The baby. Her baby. Their—

"I know," she says, and she smiles, and this time it's more nerves than fright because she's scared but she's excited, privately, knowing, knowing, knowing. "I know."

 


End file.
